


Enervation

by rivalshipping



Series: Weary [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Past Child Abuse, Protectiveness, Recreational Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, pre-fame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivalshipping/pseuds/rivalshipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toki doesn't really think he's worth the effort everyone seems to be putting into him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enervation

**Author's Note:**

> more metalocalypse
> 
> i took some liberties eg toki does not have the grasp of english he had when we looked back at his audition in doomstar
> 
> i love pickles and toki and them interacting so i may make this a series if i add some more stories
> 
> thanks for reading

“You should get some sleep, kid.” Toki looked up from his hands to the doorway of his temporary room in Oslo, where Pickles was standing with his arms crossed and his shoulder against the doorframe. What would have been a confused, distressed look on Toki’s face had he seen any other band member was an almost-smile at the sight of Dethklok’s drummer.

Pickles was always nice to him, even when he didn’t have to be. They had plucked Toki off the streets a week ago now, and he was just getting the hang of practicing every day without his hands cramping and eating two meals a day without throwing one of them up. Skwisgaar was kind in relation to helping translate and teaching him his new parts, but other than that he was aloof, preferring solitude over a skinny little vagabond who just needed someone to talk to. Pickles may not have understood everything he said, and even bought a little Norsk to English dictionary while they were in Sweden for auditioners, but he was always willing to _listen_.

Their frontman Nathan made an offhand comment about Pickles being the Band Mom whilst said mom served them scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and Toki didn’t immediately understand what he was talking about. Now, three days later, with Pickles standing at his door with concern writ on his face asking him to sleep, he understood perfectly.

Toki wrung his hands together, enjoying the feel of his new, tougher calluses against the smooth skin of his palms. “I sleeps, Pickle,” he assured, but made no move to even take his shoes off. They were renting the apartment just until the end of the month, three days from now, so they told him to get it as dirty as he liked and their devoted staff (ten strong and growing) would clean it up later. Toki wore his shoes inside to not stand out more than he always did, but his room was spotless.

He looked up again when his bed dipped beside him. “Toki,” Pickles said, and didn’t his name sound strange in that Midwestern accent? “We’ve got, like, a fuckin’ long plane ride _early_ tomorrow. Sleep now, dood, so we don’t have to drag ya down the runway.”

Even though it wasn’t a criticism, far from it, Toki still shrank back and wrapped his arms around his stomach. Pickles, probably the most touchy-feely out of all the pretending-not-to-love-each-other bandmates, threw an arm around Toki’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Early in their friendship Pickles told him a little about his experience with Snakes ‘N Barrels, and how they didn’t make a big deal out of being there for one another, and how it was a little bit of a culture shock to him that the other members of Dethklok were so adamant about being “not gay”.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Toki scuffing his feet on the carpet and Pickles touching his piercings with his free hand, before Pickles sighed.

“Is somethin’ wrong with ya? Homesick?” The force with which Toki shook his head nearly sent them both toppling from the bed. “Okay, okay! Got it!” Pickles grinned at him, then sighed. “I fuckin’ know that feelin’, kid.”

They heard footsteps in the room next to Toki’s through the thin wall, then the near-inaudible _plink plink_ of unamped strings. Skwisgaar the Chronic Insomniac was also awake, then.

“Sorries, Pickle.” Toki toed off his shoes and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his arm. The small, dark room, lit only by what little light was making it from the living room down the hallway, was too small and too dark. Sleeping would be rough when he was already feeling low and now his subconscious was dredging up close, dark, dank memories that he thought he had successfully repressed.

“No need to be sahrry, dood.” Pickles stood up, ruffled Toki’s hair, then cocked his head before he reached the door. “Ya want me tah stay witcha?”

A friendship between two people with completely different accents was destined to be difficult. “Stay witcha?” Toki repeated in confusion.

Pickles huffed and rolled his eyes playfully. “Do you want me to stay with you?” he forced in the most accent-neutral voice he could; Toki giggled at him, then laid down and rolled over to absolutely howl into his pillow. A warm hand at his back prompted him to look up again, fighting another round of giggles. “Well? Do ya?” Pickles asked again.

Instead of answering, Toki scooted closer to the wall, leaving half of the twin bed open. Pickles was shorter than him but not by much, so his knees fit almost perfectly into the back of Toki’s, and he wasn’t afraid to wrap his arm around Toki’s chest and sigh into his hair.

The bubbly, laughing feeling in Toki’s chest left him in a rush. He felt warm--hot, even--and upset. This moment, this _week_ , was the most physical contact he had ever gotten in his life, and he loved it. He wanted it to be permanent--he wasn’t interested in kissing Pickles, or having sex with him, or anything remotely romantic. He just wanted to _touch_ him. At least one nightmare every night was dedicated to all of this being ripped away from him and it made his days that much harder.

Now fighting tears instead of laughter, Toki turned over and buried his face in Pickles’ chest. He smelled like weed, which Toki was getting very used to, and something sweetly alcoholic. His heartbeat was quick like he was on uppers but his breathing was slow and even. “It’s alright, kid,” he murmured, both arms now around Toki’s back, pulling him into a tight embrace. No one else Toki knew, no one else in the _world_ , would treat him like this; he sobbed once, hard, and then lost it.

He couldn’t tell how long they were there, awake. Pickles rubbed his back at intervals, murmuring words that sounded like nonsense under Toki’s blubbering. Eventually, though, the weed-and-alcohol scent calmed him down enough to slow his tears. 

“Want a joint?” Pickles asked quietly, no doubt noticing how Toki was taking deeper and deeper breaths into his shirt. “I c’n roll ya one in like, two seconds if ya want it. It’ll calm ya down.” He asked it like he was offering Toki a glass of warm milk. 

Toki shrugged and Pickles sat up, tugging the blankets up after him to drape over Toki’s still fully clothed form. “Pickle,” he began, but Pickles was already out the door headed to his own room.

He barely had time to identify what Skwisgaar was still steadily picking out before Pickles was back with a lighter and a joint, his dreads up in a ponytail and his feet bare. The first time Toki ever smoked was with Pickles, and the drummer was incredibly patient with him, not even laughing when he coughed on his first dozen inhales. He liked how he felt afterward, how the peace and calmness was much less dizzying than getting drunk. Pickles had no problem sharing his weed after that, since Toki would just sit quietly with him and smoke unlike the rest of the band, who always had something “innovative” to say when they were high.

“I gotta smoke the rest’ve this shit anyway,” Pickles mumbled around his blunt, flicking his thumb against the lighter. After a few inhales, Pickles passed it to Toki, who was sitting up against the headboard of the bed.

Toki breathed warm smoke into the still air of the bedroom. “When we’s famous,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “They let you take all your drugs on the planes, Pickle.”

Pickles chuckled, taking another hit. “Thanks fer the vote a confidence, Toki,” he replied good-naturedly. “I wonder what it’d be like to fuckin’ trip on a plane.”

Toki shrugged again. “Scaries.” Pickles laughed again and nudged him with his shoulder.  
\---  
The next morning started way too early. Pickles stayed with him until he fell asleep around midnight, and not five hours later Nathan was hammering on his door. “Get up Toki, we have a plane to catch!” he shouted, and then stomped off.

A little wobbly from lack of sleep, Toki picked up his guitar, his fanny pack with his hat inside, and his shoes, and left the room.

Skwisgaar looked as tired as he felt, dark circles under his normally bright eyes and hair stringy and greasy-looking. “Mornings Skwisgaar,” he said quietly, in case Skwisgaar was actually hung over. The lead guitarist smirked at him, patting the seat on the couch next to him. Toki took it gratefully and put on his shoes, murmuring a polite greeting to Murderface as well, who was sat across from them and looking even more tired.

Pickles traipsed into the room with a smile on his face, awake and full of life. “We’re flyin’ ta New York!” he said excitedly. “Charles is doin’ business there so we get ta hang out!”

“Scho _why_ do we have to fly out at the assch-crack of dawn?” Murderface asked, irritated. Skwisgaar also looked as if he wanted a good explanation for their current situation.

“It’s a fucking eight hour flight that you can _sleep_ on,” Nathan said, appearing behind Pickles with his notebook in hand. “Calm your stupid asses down.”

Toki brightened at the prospect of America, a place he had never been but heard fantastic stories of. “Mornings Nathans and Pickle!” he chirruped, much more awake now. Pickles’ enthusiasm was practically infectious.

Nathan grunted and stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, but Pickles sat on the arm of the sofa closest to Toki. "Feelin' ok?" he asked softly, frowning ever so slightly. 

"Hey!" Murderface protested. "It'sch gay to care about easch other! That wasch our firscht rule!"

"Toki wasn't part a' the band when we said that," Pickles countered. Skwisgaar just looked bored of the whole situation, eyeing his guitar which was leaning against the wall across the room. 

Murderface sputtered angrily. "Scho you guys care about _him_ and not _me_?!"

"I cares about yous, Moidaface." Now the brunt of Murderface's gaze was on Toki, but he didn't back down or retract his statement. He was with them for long enough to know that Murderface was mostly bark and almost no bite. "I thinks yous real cool!"

Skwisgaar chuckled, finally standing up and reaching over to his guitar to pull it gently into his lap. Pickles' eyebrows raised and he scoffed before he was able to cover it with a weak cough. Murderface, now appeased, leaned back in his chair and smirked. "Asch well you schould, Toki."

"Charles sent the cab," Nathan called from the kitchen, "So get your shit and leave." Pickles lightly ruffled Toki's hair, stood up, and went to join Nathan in the other room. Skwisgaar slung his only bag over his shoulder, held his guitar by the neck, and was the first out the door, Murderface and his bass following. Toki hesitated, unsure whether he should leave now or wait for Pickles. There were voices, soft but stern, coming from the kitchen and he knew it was wrong to listen in but he couldn't help wanting to. 

"He's havin' a rough time, Nat'n," Pickles murmured, leaning against the small wooden table from where Toki could see.

Nathan, against the refrigerator, grunted in agreement. "You're taking care of him, or whatever?" When Pickles nodded, Nathan continued, "He'll be fine then. He's adjusting."

The drummer fidgeted, one hand coming up to grip one of his dreadlocks and worry the end between his thin fingers. "I guess. But he's just a kid."

"You started as a kid."

"That's different."

They were silent for a while, and then Nathan just happened to look over at where Toki was peering in. "Speak of the fucking devil." Toki jumped and instead of scampering away stepped more into the fluorescent lights. "I thought I told you to get in the cab."

Toki felt as if his heart was going to stop completely. Nathan was glaring at him and Pickles was visibly upset, staring at his feet. "I-I...," he stuttered, suddenly at a loss for English words. "Sorries, I just wanting... I just waits? Waits for Pickle, and--"

Pickles rubbed at his temple and glanced up. "It's alright, Toki. Just get in the cab."

Toki did run then, sparing a second to get his beat up guitar, and left the apartment for the last time.

It was warm for Oslo outside. Toki felt fine in his t-shirt, but he saw Murderface practically huddled into himself against the chilly air, sitting in the second row of the van. Toki squeezed past to get in the back, leaning his guitar between his legs. Part of him was still nervous from last night, the cause of which was money related as usual, but another, larger part of him was now worried about what Nathan and Pickles thought was his end goal in listening into their conversation. 

Nathan, band leader and basically the first connection to Charles, would be the worst one of the other four to anger. If he really wanted to he could kick Toki out he would have no trouble doing it, and he had the final vote in whatever the band wanted when it came to telling Charles. It would be less detrimental to antagonize Pickles, but he was Nathan's best friend and could possibly sway him (and Toki shook his head to clear it of that thought--he didn't really think the laid-back drummer could do anything that petty) and he was _Toki's_ best friend. Skwisgaar was nice sometimes, but not in the same way. 

He heard Nathan and Pickles talking again and he resisted the urge to cover his ears in case he heard something else he wasn’t supposed to. Nathan got in the front next to the driver without a glance at him, but Pickles, instead of getting into the empty seat beside Skwisgaar and Murderface, sat right next to him.

"Sorries," Toki repeated, running his fingers up and down the strings of his guitar and shifting closer to the window.

Silence, and then Pickles dropped his arm over Toki's shoulders in a familiar way, complete with playful shake. "Toki. It's honestly no problem, dood." Pickles made a face at the "no smoking" sign on the back of the second row of seats and kicked at it, ignoring Murderface's squawk of protest. "It's naht the first time I've been eavesdropped on. At least me an' Nat'n weren't fuckin'." 

Toki turned to face him incredulously, but Pickles was already lauging. "Pickle," he said disapprovingly, brushing his hair out of his mouth that had gotten caught when he turned. "Tell jokes what's funny."

Pickles' arm slid to Toki's waist and he pulled him closer, careful of his guitar. "If you're still worried I'll talk to Nat'n fer ya."

A moment of thought, and then Toki shook his head, leaning against Pickles' shoulder. "Thanks you, Pickle." His fingers itched for something to do but he didn’t immediately grab for his guitar like Skwisgaar would. “I don’t know what has siblings,” he said stiltedly, “But what has one… Yous my brother.”

Pickles sighed and shifted a bit. “I won’t be very good a that, kid. My brother is a fuckin’ asshole douchebag and--”

“Yous not like him,” Toki interrupted. “I knows you.” And then he poked Skwisgaar in the back of his blond head, picked up his his guitar, and started the rhythm from Hatredcopter. Skwisgaar turned and grinned at him, then joined in.

The cab ride was only about twenty minutes, but Skwisgaar and Toki hammered double-time through their entire current setlist, stopping a few times so Skwisgaar could play something a bit slower and Toki could copy him. Every perfect playthrough got him compliments from both Skwisgaar and Nathan while Pickles stared out the window--Toki would have been nervous again if it weren’t for Pickles’ thigh resting along the length of his.

They all piled out of the cab when it pulled up to the airport, Skwisgaar and Toki chatting animatedly about possible changes to the rhythm of various songs in their native languages. Murderface looked much less angry about being awake at this point. Pickles followed close beside Toki, content to not understand anything, and Nathan called Charles for some confirmations.

Checking their instruments was easy, and so was getting through security and boarding the plane. They couldn’t afford to fly first class yet, but their flight was relatively calm with no babies or children and a lot of people who just wanted to sleep. Skwisgaar sat with Toki of his own volition, content to continue to whisper to him until they both got too tired and had to sleep. Toki felt a little jittery and woke up every few minutes to look out the window or stare at Pickles, sitting diagonal from him. He knew it would be easier to sleep if he could rest on someone but Skwisgaar didn’t really like to be touched unless it was for sex.

“Pickle?” Toki called softly, leaning across the aisle. Pickles turned back to look at him, blinking groggily.

Toki didn’t know what his expression was at the moment, but it was enough for Pickles to turn back around, presumably shake Nathan awake, and send him to sit where Toki was. Nathan stood over him for a second, then jerked his head toward Pickles. Toki slid out of his seat and into the one next to Pickles instead.

The drummer took no time at all to lift the armrest and lean his seat back as far as Nathan’s was, then guide Toki’s head to his shoulder. “You’re still worried,” Pickles said into Toki’s hair, crossing his ankles and rubbing the sleep out of his eye with his free hand.

All of Toki’s exhaustion seemed to multiply and he tensed. “Money,” he said, and that was nothing new. They had all reassured him in their own ways that he didn’t need to repay them for cab rides, or plane tickets, or even their promise of a new guitar, but being without for so long taught him that everything had a price. “And.…” Here he paused and wrapped his arm around Pickles’ waist, gripping the hem of his shirt. “I don’t have… I can’ts fits in.”

“The only reason we didn’t want ya to hear us talkin’ is we fuckin’ knew you’d think like this.” Pickles pushed Toki away just far enough that he could look him in the eyes. “You’re young, ya douchebag. Give the fame a chance ta catch up witcha and keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Which is _good_. Real fuckin’ good.”

Toki blinked rapidly to chase back fatigue induced tears and nodded. “I’s keep tryings,” he promised.

“Good. Now sleep. ‘N I mean it,” Pickles said, pulling Toki back against his shoulder, and it was laughably easy for Toki to slip into unconsciousness with Pickles’ heartbeat under his ear for the second time.


End file.
